


The Loss of Heaven

by poorly_animated



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Catholic Prayers, During Canon, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, M/M, Masturbation, POV First Person, Phone Sex, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poorly_animated/pseuds/poorly_animated
Summary: Chrollo is waiting for Hisoka to call him with an update.
Relationships: Hisoka/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	The Loss of Heaven

I don’t miss him.

Not really.

It’s so easy to tell myself this. If I never moved my legs I could almost believe it, but I caught a glimpse of him on a subway ad fifteen minutes ago and I’m still half-hard. My body genuinely  _ aches _ for him, which I did not expect. 

All of this, just to be there when I die?

I suppose it’s understandable: after all, to watch a life fade is a marvel of an experience. He would sit over me and stroke my stiffening face, laugh softly in that delicate way of his, call out to the others of the unprecedented horror that has befallen them. I wouldn’t put it past Hisoka to try to give a speech at my funeral, though I think I could trust Paku to put an end to that. I miss her. When I get back, I’d like to spend some time with her like we used to, just the two of us. 

It’s strange how much ripping off a bandage hurts. Is it the way the skin tries to cling to the fabric? Is it the threat of fresh air on a wound unfinished with its healing? Or perhaps it is the commitment to healing that stings: giving up on covering the wound, allowing it to breathe and change and scab its way back to a smooth, fading scar. And when the scar has finished fading, who can say there ever was a wound? 

My stop has finally arrived. Walking across the platform I am struck by how different it feels to be alone these days—I would have thought I’d be used to being on my own, but I’ve found the solitude has quite a different flavor now that I truly cannot speak to anyone I hold dear. There is a tall blonde man screaming at a man with a dark ponytail on the corner here. What I wouldn’t give to be listening to the familiar cacophony of Phinks and Nobu arguing instead. No matter: I have business to attend to. Hisoka owes me a phone call soon, and I must be prepared to hear his voice again. I was hoping it would get easier as the weeks passed. So far, each conversation with him has felt as though I’ve been doused in the sweetest honey and set out to be mauled by bears. 

The sweetest honey. One night, so far off now that I can hardly grasp its memory, Hisoka met me in a vineyard and asked me if I would dance without music. I felt like a fool trying to follow his footsteps. He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me closer, rotated his beautiful hips just enough to send an electric shock straight to the base of my spine, and spun me towards a neglected corner of the property. There was a beehive there. He reached a hand in and came back with a honeycomb, dripping gold under the stars, and held it to my lips as a question. Some of it escaped me in my embarrassed laughter and he caught a shimmering droplet on one delicate finger and licked it off. I’m sure I was blushing. He leaned in and kissed me, not for the first time, of course, but in this slow, sweet way that felt as though our mouths were only just beginning their acquaintance. I remember sinking into him felt like learning to drown. 

The grass under my feet now is brown, devoid of color, of life, of anything worth looking at. Yet I still find myself looking. It seems to me that this grass would scratch my skin far more than the green floor of that vineyard, though there’s nobody here to press my body into the soil. Perhaps I shall sit and let the memories come. I do hope the others are enjoying their game—they will find an exorcist, of course, and all shall be well again, but I’d like to think they are each finding reasons to be their own selves outside of serving me. I am truly worthless. Hisoka has shown me that once and for all. The earth here is damper than I expected, sinking under my weight and most likely seeping into my clothes as I write. It hardly matters. The memories would like to continue their parade. If only my body would stop burning with desire whenever I picture his face. 

Hisoka always knew exactly how to touch me. Even now, the thought of being with another serves to terrify me, tinged as it is with the prediction that they simply wouldn’t be as good as him. If I were anywhere other than a public park at the moment I would be taking care of all of these inconvenient thoughts in a very different manner. As it is, all I can do is will my legs to stop twitching and try to focus on why it’s over. Well, I suppose I should ask myself if it ever truly happened. I have memories, of course, all the meetings in abandoned buildings and strange landscapes and incomplete towns, but these are just memories, hardly worth trusting. My body remembers. My body aches for his long fingers, his soft lips, his muscular chest pressed against my back as he curled around me to cover my mouth. I could have spent days in heaven with him. But we were always busy, each rushing off to follow our own selfish pursuits across the globe, to ensure our tickets to hell, if it does exist. If there is a hell after this life, I must assume it will function the same as this—myself, alone, sinking into cold mud and remembering what it felt like to believe I might be loved. 

Perhaps I will continue walking. I have another hour until the call, and there is a museum nearby. It is supposed to have a spectacular collection of textiles. Such a shame that the owner of that convenient stealing cloth died—hardly a surprise, given what Feitan did to him, but I could’ve made use of it to bring Machi some interesting fabric samples. Well. Not that I can use nen at all. Oddly enough, standing on these marble steps, I feel no pull to steal. Nothing inside any building in this city calls to me. I could take anything I please, I could end the lives of thousands, and yet all I find myself doing is walking slowly down half-empty hallways and appreciating the low light. A tapestry stops me and I gaze into it. There is a man standing above a woman’s corpse, holding up embroidered lumps which appear to be her heart and brain. The label tells me a myth of how a trickster god convinced a notorious bandit to fall in love with him so he could steal her prized possession: herself. Suddenly I find that I am unbearably small and I must keep moving. 

Alone in a gallery, I stare at an oil painting of three black birds. They look like crows but the title alludes to ravens. I would like my hair to have the same luster their feathers hold, to be so alluring that no man could ever want something more. I am not certain why I want to be wanted. Is it just a facet of human nature? Or is it the pathetic residue of believing a liar? Hisoka’s laugh rings in my ears and I force myself to walk away. I must learn to be stronger than wanting him. 

The door locks behind me and the light flickers on. I’ve chosen an empty restroom, big enough for mothers to cajole rambunctious children into taking care of their needs. This is pathetic. A new low for me. I turn the lights back off and slide a hand underneath my belt. And just like that, my phone rings. The bastard. 

“Hello, darling!”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.” The word’s gone straight to my stomach, flipping it over and over in dizzying circles. I know I should take my hand out of my pants but it won’t budge. “Quite unlike you to be early, Hisoka.” 

He lets out that terrifying, delicious, mocking laughter and I squeeze myself without thinking. “Oh, come now, Chrollo, maybe I just missed hearing your sweet voice! Where are you, my darling?”

His voice is dripping with sugar and poison and I find myself pulling my cock all the way free of my trousers. “A museum. Get on with it.” 

“Hmmm, always such an intellectual,” he sighs. I can hear something like a stream in the background. No, not a stream, _ a shower, _ still running, still slapping against the tile like so many colliding hips. Is he—could he be—the thought of him nude somewhere with my voice in his ear is enough to make my toes curl. He’s still talking. “So, we do have a fairly good lead at this point, but I’ve been quite  _ bored _ around all of your little friends! I would’ve thought  _ one _ of them might harbor an interest in a more magical experience.” 

“They’ve never liked you,” I laugh softly. It’s true: Machi was the only one who ever could stand him, though she hardly approved of how strongly I felt about him. “And besides,” I find myself speaking without thinking, “they know better than to approach what belongs to me.”

Hisoka laughs again, a real laugh this time, and I can hear it echoing off a pane of glass. He must be standing by a window. I always hated when he did that—he once had me up against the view from his tower suite, praying the glass would survive how hard he was thrusting into me. My mouth falls open at the memory and I give myself a few strokes. If that experience was terrifying, this one is beyond mortifying. The idea of him finding out what I’m doing only makes my wrist move faster. “Chrollo, darling, I don’t belong to anyone. I thought you knew that already,” he teases. He makes this soft, thoughtful hum that I can remember feeling wrapped around my dick and I wish I could feel it now. “But you might be right about that. I thought for sure I could seduce that stupid blonde one—Pink, or something?—because of how vehemently he seems to hate me, but I suppose it’s not worth the effort,” he chuckles.

“Oh, he hates you more than most,” I catch myself laughing, “and besides, he’s desperately in love with Feitan.” Hisoka laughs again and I have to close my eyes as I find myself imagining that sound tickling my skin. “But please, tell me why you called.” I hope my voice sounds firmer than it feels.

“Hmmm, like I said, maybe I just missed your voice! And I have a favor to ask, darling.” 

I gasp when he says favor. The selfish bastard destroys everything I’ve ever held dear, breaks my heart, mocks the spider, and has the audacity to ask me for a favor? “What is it?”

“Pray for me, honey,” he purrs, “I’ve done some terrible things and I’d love for you to put in a few good words for me.”

“Pray?” I have to laugh at this. My hand pauses on its own and comes up to cover my mouth. It smells of my own sweat. I bite my lip and replace it around my stiff cock. “You know I don’t pray, Hisoka, not anymore. God doesn’t listen to the children of Meteor City.”

I can almost feel his smirk through the phone. “But you have the voice of an angel!”

“Very amusing.”

“If I were God, I’d listen to you.” His voice drops lower and it takes all of my self-control to keep from begging him to come find me. 

“But you are not God, Hisoka, and I am hardly an angel,” I whisper. “I doubt bloodstained prayers make it very far.”

He sighs and I recognize the timbre of his voice when he’s touching himself. I close my eyes again, picturing his broad back, water dripping down across those beautiful shoulders, along his firm ass, running down the legs of his spider—and my blood runs cold as I remember the sight of him removing that patch of his skin I had kissed so many times as though it were a used tissue. “Pray for me anyways, darling, I love how choked up you get when you’re telling yourself you’re not a sinner.”

“You bastard,” I hiss, “you think you can still ask me for anything and I’ll give it to you?”

“Yes.”

My heart stops at the bored certainty in his voice. I find my hand has started to move again, my body betraying my mind as always. “How dare you.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

“I’ve put my life in your hands like a fool.”

“And I’m taking it very seriously!” He giggles as he says it. He doesn’t even bother to hide that he’s laughing. “Chrollo, my darling, where are you right now?”

I sigh as I catch a bit of precum slipping free from the tip of my cock. “I told you, I’m in a museum.”

“But are you in front of a painting, or are you hiding in the bathroom, touching yourself?”

“I’m not—“ My whole body has gone completely numb. “I’m looking at a tapestry, actually,” I lie.

Hisoka chuckles. “Liar,” he whispers, “I can hear that little heart of yours racing through the phone. You’re stroking that beautiful cock of yours, wishing you could shut me up with it, wishing you were cumming down my throat so that I couldn’t keep speaking to you, hmm?”

“N-no, you pervert,” I gasp. But now the image is in my mind and my hand is moving faster. 

“I’ll bet,” he teases, “that you’re wishing I was there to fuck your tight little hole, to make you feel like you have a purpose again, hmm? Your life had so much  _ meaning _ when you could give yourself to please me, Chrollo.”

“That’s—“

“True,” he finishes for me. He giggles at the frustrated sound I let out. “Chrollo, darling, I need you to pray for me, I’ve been such a bad, bad man recently, and only you can wash the blood from my hands.”

“You bastard. I won’t.”

“You will.”

Fuck. He’s right. I need the sound of that cruel laugh in my ear, that blissful sigh, that delicious moan when he’s really satisfied by me. “I can’t.”

“Please, darling? It’s all I can think of, that beautiful voice of yours climbing up to heaven with my cock buried in your ass, reciting the rosary as though you have a soul left to save.”

“Hisoka.” His name escapes as a breath crossing my lips, a desperate, tiny sound that squeezes my eyes shut in shame. “Hisoka, why?”

“Because you’re so pretty when you cry, darling.”

I can’t help stroking myself a bit faster. “And what will I get in return?”

“Hmmm.” I can feel his smile again, that devious, smirking grin I used to love so much. “Maybe I’ll make some of those little wishes of yours come true, Chrollo! God knows I miss the taste of your pretty cock in my mouth.” 

“Oh,” is all I can manage. I try to think. “I—we’re done, Hisoka, there’s nothing—I’ll never—“

“You’ll never find anyone better,” he murmurs. I can hear his breathing growing a bit thicker. He must be stroking himself, too. I can picture it: his long nails, likely painted some garish color, wrapped around his big cock and traveling slowly over the rippling skin. I hate how right he is. 

I take a deep breath and stare down at my own hand. It’s shimmering slightly around my throbbing erection. I need to finish, and I need him. Dammit. “What should I say? The Our Father? A Holy Mary?”

“Hehe, that’s more like it! What’s the one about begging forgiveness, hmm? It seems appropriate.”

“The Act of Contrition,” I gasp.

I hear a soft sigh from him and my cock jumps in my hand. “Yes,” he murmurs, “go on then, beg for our souls, Chrollo.”

“I... O, my god,” I whisper, “I... I am heartily sorry for... for having offended Thee... and... and...”

“Louder, darling.”

I swallow hard and try to remember the rest of the words. “For having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, for I... I dread the loss of heaven.” If my voice cracks on the word, neither of us acknowledge it. 

“So decadent, Chrollo, please continue,” he sighs.

“I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,” I gasp, “who are all good and deserving of all my love, Hisoka, I—“

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Start over, love, my name isn’t part of any prayers yet.”

I have to smile at this, as much as it hurts. “Oh, my God,” I try again, “I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, for I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend Thee—“

“My god,” he moans.

“My god,” I repeat, “who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace—“

“I’m close, darling,” Hisoka moans. I bite back my own desperate sound and try to focus. 

“To confess my sins, and do penance, and, and to amend my life, Amen,” I gasp. The fire in the pit of my stomach is coiling dangerously close to the edge as I finish the prayer, sending my hand racing as I chase the release.

“Oh, thank you, danchou,” he sighs, and it sends me straight to heaven, makes my knees buckle as I paint the toilet seat white on white and my sins spray across the lonely room. I must have sobbed because I can hear the loud groan of his orgasm coming soon after mine, followed by his cruel, mocking laughter. “You’re so easy to tease, darling,” he giggles, “goodbye now!”

The click of the receiver makes my heart stop. How can I keep letting him win? I curse under my breath and try to remember how to inhale, let the stale, rank air of this public restroom flow through my nostrils and into my lungs. The exhale sighs its way out of my body as I start to clean up. My phone buzzes again. The bastard sent me a text with actual updates on his search for the exorcist. There’s a picture attached. When I open it, the groan escapes my mouth before I can finish thinking. It’s that hard, beautiful stomach of his, decorated in shimmering streaks, his spent cock laying limply across his firm thighs.

He has the audacity to say he missed me. 

I make it out into the museum again and try to avoid the mix of concerned and disgusted stares from strangers as I plow through the crowd. I can barely breathe. How could I be so stupid? I want to call Paku, or Machi, or even Phinks might be a comfort at this point, but I can’t, the ache in my heart isn’t only from Hisoka, there’s a blade waiting there to sever my ties to this worthless earth if I so much as dial their numbers. A bench finds me and I am in front of another painting but I have no way of knowing what it shows, not with my vision blurred by the image of Hisoka laughing as he sent those messages. I feel ill. I feel like calling the Troupe and letting the blade take me. I feel the cold marble resting against the muscles of my legs and pressing into the damp spots from my earlier seat in the soil and I try to remember that at the end of the day I am human, I am confined to this earthly body, I am more than a discarded toy. 

But, God, if you do listen, why must I be this person, out of all the living?

Oh, my God. 

I am so heartily sorry. For having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, for I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell.

But most of all, because they offend Thee, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love.

I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life.

Amen.


End file.
